


There are dreams that cannot be

by Elisexyz



Series: 25 days of Swanfire fic-mas [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Emma finally gets an enjoyable Christmas and the feeling that someone might actually be there to stay.(Then, of course, the other shoe drops.)





	There are dreams that cannot be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Ghost of Christmas past" prompt in the [ "25 days of fic-mas" challenge on Tumblr](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/tagged/25-days-of-fic-mas/chrono). This time it's half fluff and half... not fluff. Ops.  
>  Also, I tagged it as "canon compliant", but I'll confess that I didn't bother with the math to check if they have _actually_ spent Christmas together or not before August arrived and blew holes in my ship. In my defense, the writers of the show mess up the math all the time, so I'm hoping that you'll cut me some slack ^^"

“Come _on_ ,” Neal prompts, a huge grin on his face. He looks really alive, like it isn’t _barely_ morning. “Scoot over,” he adds, handing her the two cups of hot chocolate that he bought before inserting himself in the backseat, next to her.

“Since _when_ are you a morning person?” she complains. Her eyes are still half-closed, and although she’s tucked under a blanket and still wearing her jacket she’s beginning to feel colder and colder as her body slowly realizes that she’s really awake.

God, it’s freezing. Emma hates winter, even more so while living in the streets, with only a yellow Bug and another human body to help her avoid dying of hypothermia.

“It’s Christmas morning,” Neal points out, a note of excitement in his voice.

Emma’s foggy brain spares a minute to notice that it’s pretty adorable. Still, was it really necessary to wake her up to watch the dawn while drinking hot chocolate? It’s going to be Christmas morning at nine am as well.

“Usually I could be _dying_ and you’d keep sleeping,” she complains, a note of mock outrage in her voice. She hands him his chocolate, smiling slightly. At least the warm drink _is_ very appreciated.

“That’s not true,” he protests, offended. “You dying would definitely wake me up.”

“Barely. _Maybe_.”

“You don’t deserve the chocolate.”

She gives him a little shove, which turns out to be a very bad idea, because she does it in the exact moment he was trying to open the cup and actually drink his chocolate, and he ends up spilling most of it at his feet and on his jeans.

“Shit,” he mutters, trying to savage what’s left of it.

Emma’s face twists in a pained grimace at the sight. “I’m _so_ sorry,” she immediately says. “I didn’t think that one through.”

He doesn’t look the least bit mad, though. Either he’s turned into an actual saint, or this Christmas thing really has him in a good mood. Emma has never particularly liked it, mostly because of the whole _family_ theme attached to it, and although this year she actually has someone that she’s happy to celebrate with and who she’s truly beginning to believe will stick around, she really can’t bring herself to summon much enthusiasm.

“It’s alright, there’s still half of it,” he shrugs, with a nonchalant smile.

“You can have mine,” she offers. She’s the one who made the mess, she should at least be the one with the half-spilled chocolate, since there isn’t much that she can do for his jeans.

“Nah, I’m good,” he declines, flashing another smile at her before leaning back against the seat and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She follows his lead and scoots closer, fixing the blanket so that he’s covered too.

“You’re really into the Christmas celebrations, uh?” she asks, quietly. “Was it— a thing? When you were a kid?”

She doesn’t know many details about his family situation, but he’s always been adamant that things used to be good with his dad, and she can’t help being a little curious, wondering what it was like to have a family, albeit small, to celebrate Christmas with.

“Uh, not really, it wasn’t— a thing, where we lived,” he replies, a bit hesitantly. “I’ve actually wanted to try it for a while, it’s just the first time that I have someone to celebrate with.”

She smiles a little, snuggling against his shoulder in a show of appreciation.

“That explains the early rise,” she concedes, affectionately.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Oh, speaking of celebrating—” he adds, handing her his cup to search for something in his pocket.

“ _Neal_ ,” she immediately protests, sitting up straighter. “We said _no_ presents.” They really don’t have any money to throw at presents right now, and stealing isn’t worth it if it isn’t for survival. She was tempted to buy him something anyway as well, for a moment, but she resisted the temptation, _come on_.

“It’s not a present,” he remarks. He shows her a small paper bag. “Just some candy, for both of us.”

“Neal,” she reprimands, if a little less forcefully. That’s better than an actual present, but it’s still money he shouldn’t have spent.

“Come on, we deserve a little treat,” he protests, shaking the paper bag in her direction as an invitation. When she rolls her eyes and dives into it with a small smile of appreciation, he grins, satisfied. “Merry Christmas,” he says, brightly.

“Merry Christmas,” she echoes, giving him his cup back before resuming to her previous position curled up against him.

If Christmas is going to be like this for the rest of her life, she might actually begin to enjoy it.

 

 

The next time she has a chance to celebrate Christmas isn’t like that at all. She is still in that very same yellow Bug: she drops her keys and she comes face to face with the chocolate stains that they never bothered to wash away, her stomach sinks and she thinks she might be sick.

She’s alone, tucked in her jacket and ordering an hot chocolate to go. She sips it while walking down the street, because that little car that she’s refusing to give up on half out of principle – it’s _hers_ , he won’t be taking that from her too – and half because she can’t really afford to be picky at the moment is beginning to feel really claustrophobic, and she isn’t ready to go back yet.

The chocolate somehow doesn’t warm her up as much as it should. She probably should have stuck with the car.

She pauses in front of a small store without fully meaning to, and her eyes fall on some candy on display. She doesn’t have much money on her, but the loneliness is hitting twice as hard this year, after she experienced one fleeting moment of certainty that she’d never have to dread the holidays again, because she found herself a real home, so maybe sugar is the way to go – maybe _reminiscing_ is the way to go.

She buys herself some candy and she stashes it in her jacket, finishing up her chocolate before finally heading back to the Bug.

She climbs into the backseat, putting her legs up against her chest and getting out the paper bag with the candy.

“Merry Christmas,” she murmurs, chocking back tears and grimly noticing that she feels even colder than while she was walking down the street.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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